Page 115 of The Sovereign: Part One
“Ah,” she said, eyes sweeping over the four of us.“Senior Advisor Poeima.”
“Just Isara,” I said with a nod.“Thank you for seeing us.”
“I should thank you,” Hecta replied with a polished smile.“Lourdes speaks of you as if you personally rewrote The Eight.”
“She exaggerates,” I said.
“Shemarkets,” Hecta corrected lightly, then turned her attention to Maxim.She paused.
“How odd.”
“That I’m here,” he said, his hand still resting at my shoulder.“Perhaps.”
“Supplicants, predominantly male Supplicants, typically avoid the preliminary design phase,” she noted, almost academically.“It’s become something of an unspoken rule.Most prefer the final reveal to the process.”
Maxim’s eyes held hers.“What a terrible rule.”
It was disarming—simple, sincere, and entirely Maxim.Hecta’s expression shifted, just slightly, the way a curtain might stir when a draft is unexpected.
“Noted,” she said, and gestured for us to begin.
She extended a narrow palm, and a cascading beam of soft light bloomed above the center of the consultation table.A rotating cluster of projections formed: a blank venue shell, a palette wheel, flowing threads of archived textures and sounds.A world waiting to be named.
I leaned forward.“I don’t want ceremony for the sake of spectacle,” I said.“No scripted grandeur.No calculated awe.I want it to feel… grounded.Like it could have happened a hundred years ago, or a hundred from now.”
Hecta didn’t blink.“Timeless.”
“Yes.Meaningful.Intentional.Light without being cold.I don’t want to feel like I’m performing my Oathbond.”
“No projection panels?”Hecta asked.“Hover plinths?”
“Only music and florals.Nothing visual.”
“Color story?”
“Pearl, stone, and shadow.I want the light to do the rest.”
Avaryn groaned audibly.“It’s givingmuseum curation, not celebration.”
“It’s called taste,” Bellam muttered, not even bothering to glance in her direction.
Hecta raised a brow, then waved her fingers to bring up a few sample settings—one with virelux banquette seating, another more open and architectural, and finally, one that shimmered with natural elements despite being housed inside.
“That one,” I said, pointing to the last.“Can we neutralize the central aisle?No runner, no flower arch.”
Maxim spoke again, “She wants to feel like we’re walking into a life, not a production.”
I looked up at him, startled for a moment by how perfectly he’d captured it.
Hecta watched him with something close to curiosity now.“You’re either very perceptive,” she said, “or very in love.”
“Hopefully both,” Maxim replied with a warm but confident grin.
Bellam made a sound in her throat like she might combust from secondhand emotion.
Hecta nodded slowly.“Very well.You’ve made this easy.I’ll build from this framework.We’ll keep the focus on tone and pacing.The space will speak for itself.And”—she glanced at Avaryn with a touch of mischief—“we’ll save just enough room for a few unexpected flourishes.Tradition, after all, must be tempted, if not broken.”
Avaryn grinned, finally.“Nowthat’ssomething I can work with.”
